


Someone to Watch Over Me

by AllThisAndLoveTooWillRuinUs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No plot whatsoever, Raising Harry Potter, just indulgent gay disasters, straight fluff, we hate dumbledore in this house
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 11:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18659128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllThisAndLoveTooWillRuinUs/pseuds/AllThisAndLoveTooWillRuinUs
Summary: The whole ‘godfather’ thing had meant a lot to Sirius, and he would have never dreamed of saying no. This is unfortunate because ‘no’ was the correct response. To be more specific: ‘No, of course not, dear God, I am in no way equipped for even the mere possibility of parenthood’.In which Sirius realizes he can't raise Harry on his own, so he turns to Remus so they can navigate parenthood, grief, and love together.





	Someone to Watch Over Me

When James asked Sirius to be the godfather, he was so honored he burst into tears. This really wasn’t much of an accomplishment on James’ part, as Sirius had also cried earlier that morning when Lily had braided his hair and it was just too beautiful. Nevertheless, the whole ‘godfather’ thing had meant a lot to him, and he would have never dreamed of saying no. This is unfortunate, because ‘no’ was the correct response. To be more specific: ‘no, of course not, dear God, I am in no way equipped for even the mere possibility of parenthood’. 

 

But of course, Sirius is only just now realizing this.

 

‘Now’ is a bit too late for this realization, as Sirius now stands in an empty flat with an orphaned Harry in his arms, a newly incriminated and incarcerated Peter, and a hole somewhere inside of him where James once resided. He hasn’t even had the time to properly mourn either of them, nor time to process Peter’s betrayal, reevaluate every memory formed of him over the past few years. This whole time he thought Remus was a traitor. How readily he’d returned to old prejudices, how willingly he’d lost a friend. 

 

Sirius shuts all of these thoughts out of his mind best he can. Being an irresponsible asshole trains you exceedingly well to ignore regrets and shock for a short period of time while you deal with the matter at hand. Harry has started crying.  _  Level one,  _ Sirius thinks to himself as he awkwardly holds the baby up to his shoulder, patting and shushing him as he once saw Lily do. 

 

He wonders how worried he should be. Lily and James never seemed particularly bothered when the baby cried, not after that first week or so. He supposes it’s a fairly common occurrence, and even more reasonable considering the child is in a new and unfamiliar place after witnessing the death of his parents. However, there is always the possibility that the crying is exclusively because Sirius has done something horribly wrong and the the crying is to indicate Harry’s imminent death. He can’t be sure. 

 

Harry doesn’t seem inclined to stop crying, but Sirius can’t find any signs of bodily harm or malfunction, so he tries his best to move on with the next task at hand while he continues with the patting and shushing. He needs to find a crib of some sort. There is definitely, beyond all doubt, most surely, not a crib in his apartment. But there is a really long bed sheet he manages to nail to the ceiling in a sort of hammock form. Sirius is quite proud of himself in the brief moment between finishing this and imagining Harry falling out of it, headfirst, in the middle of the night.

 

“For the son of James Potter” Sirius says to the small, dark skinned, and newly quiet creature in his arms, “you sure are a fragile little thing.”

 

After digging around the house for 10 or so minutes, he manages to have a pen and paper simultaneously (there had been a bit with a pen, then by the time he found the paper he’d lost said pen, then found another) and so he began to make a list, which seemed to him to be a rather parent-ish thing to do. 

 

THINGS FOR BABY HARRY:

 

  1. A real crib
  2. Food? I think? Can he chew by now? (to be researched)
  3. Toys—both from Godric’s Hollow and new
  4. Clothes—see 3
  5. A book on parenting, clearly



 

_ Remus,  _ he thinks bitterly,  _ Remus would know what to do. _ But of course, Remus would never help Sirius after the way he’s treated him. He doesn’t blame him. If it had been the other way around, and Remus had thought Sirius had betrayed his closest friends, he might just go insane. 

 

Sirius sets Harry down on the ground softly, experimentally, and is relieved to see him crawl around the kitchen. That’s one thing at least. He doesn’t have to hold him the whole time he’s out getting these things. Sirius considers for a moment, then adds to the list.

 

  1.  Stroller.



 

It is at this point he realizes there are a number of things missing from the list—a high chair, milk, pacifiers. He struggles not to let the whole thing overwhelm him. He fails. In a hurry, he picks Harry back up, shoves the list in his back pocket, and does what he told himself all of 2 minutes ago he couldn’t do. Uncertain if he can apparate with a baby, he marches over to the fireplace and floos to Remus’ flat. 

 

He doesn’t see Remus, but he hears him jump, like the old man he is, from the kitchen. Sirius isn’t sure he should even be here, so he stands still and lets Remus run over to stand in front of him, wide-eyed. 

 

Remus always had a look about him—something in the curl of his hair, the honey of his eyes, the scars running across his cheek, the soft pink of his lips, the length of his eyelashes—something in all of that. Sirius had only found one way to describe it: that the world had been made just for Remus to exist. The one time he had used this description out loud, to James, he had laughed until his dark brown face was red, slapped Sirius on the back and called him a dumbass. Sirius thought at the time that this was a bit hypocritical, as James had once compared Lily’s face to ‘the first light of a winter day’, but a bit after he’d begun to wonder if James had meant something else by it, and by the way he always smirked when Sirius and Remus had sat touching, or had no real explanation for their intense competitive nature. He wondered if James had known some sort of secret of them, and now that secret had died with him. 

 

Now Remus stood before him, honey eyes searching, pink lips parted, just an inch too close. Sirius wonders if he is allowed to feel relieved in this moment, when he should feel nothing but ashamed. It does not matter if he’s allowed or not. He feels it anyway. It’s good to see Remus’ face. Even as he finally sees Harry, and that lovely face crumples. Remus had never gotten the chance to see him, Sirius realizes. By the time he was born, Dumbledore already had his suspicions. Much as James and Lily pled, Dumbledore would let no one besides himself and Sirius come to visit them. How awful it seemed, that this was the first time Remus met Harry Potter, as a newfound orphan in the arms of the friend who doubted him. 

 

“Sirius,” he muttered, although by now he was only looking at the child.

 

“Remus, I-” Sirius looked down, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

 

There was a bit of silence before Remus nodded. “Dumbledore came not 10 minutes ago,” he said. “He explained best he could in 30 seconds or so.” Remus pauses for a moment. “He didn’t apologize.”

 

“Even if he had,” Sirius says, “it wouldn’t have covered for my apology.”

 

“No, it wouldn’t,” Remus agrees. “Just stating the facts.”

 

They stand there for a long few moments, and in one of the middle ones, they meet each others eyes again. It feels important. Sirius doesn’t look away.

 

“You have no reason to forgive me,” he says, “and I’m not asking you to, but I-” He sighs and shuts his eyes, breaking the contact. “I can’t raise Harry on my own. Not just yet at least. Remus, you know me, you know I don’t know the first thing about raising a kid and if I fuck this up, if I hurt him-”

 

Remus just nods. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, I’ll help you.”

 

And just like that, a year of hurt and mistrust and brokenness is not undone, but the end is in sight. 

  
  
  


Remus takes Sirius to get all the things on his list, and everything he forgot to put on it. Together they antagonize the poor storekeep about which cradle is the safest and which toys are the best for neurological development. Remus insists on the purchase of at least 5 different books, and for once Sirius can’t argue with his dedication to research, because the subject is so important. By the end of the very, very long day, when they have finally finished setting up the cradle in Sirius’s bedroom and it’s been dark for hours and Harry is resting peacefully, they collapse into Sirius’ bed, not thinking twice about sharing it. 

 

Around 3:30 in the morning, Harry wakes up crying. It takes a sleepy and confused Sirius a few minutes to realize what’s going on and remember that this is now his responsibility. He feels a bit like crying himself, when he realizes why it isn’t James or Lily handling this, but he doesn't. He gets out of bed and lifts Harry out of the cradle. He takes him into the kitchen, so as not to wake Remus, and does the same patting/shushing combo from earlier, this time supplementing it with a bottle of milk. Eventually, Harry quiets and goes back to sleep. For the first time, Sirius can see things being alright. Broken, but alright.

  
  
  


Remus is up before him, feeding Harry chopped bits of fruit and brewing tea. It’s odd and shocking and fitting all at once. It should not come easy. It, at least, does not come without notice. When Remus notices Sirius, he has the decency to look a bit awkward at how comfortable he is in Sirius’ apartment, but he hides it a moment after, as if he doesn’t wish to offer any sort of apology, which is fair. He nods at Sirius and hands the tiny spoon over to him before returning to the teapot, pouring himself a mug. 

“Today,” he says, without looking over, “we need to talk long-term plans and go back to Godric’s Hollow.” 

 

Sirius doesn’t like this plan, but he nods silently as he tries to get another spoonful of fruit into Harry’s mouth. “I suppose you’re right,” he says. “You’ll go with me?”

 

“Yes,” Remus says into his mug. “I’ll have to swing by my place to get a change of clothes and a shower.”

 

Sirius looks at him. “You can borrow mine. The shower and some clothes.” Then he realizes what he’s said. “Of course, I mean, of course you need to go home. This isn’t your responsibility at all, you’ve been kind enough as it is.” Remus is staring back at him, eyes wide again. “Sorry, I panicked a bit there. I’ll be fine, really.”

 

Remus waits a long moment before responding. “No, it’s quite alright. I’ll stay. I’ll go shower now if you don’t mind, you can go after.” Sirius nods, a bit embarrassed, and keeps feeding Harry. Remus eventually leaves the kitchen. Sirius makes himself breakfast. It is the first morning. 

  
  


If Sirius had managed to pretend James wasn’t dead and that all of this, taking Harry, being without him, was normal, the act fell apart standing in Godric’s Hollow.

 

Sirius, oddly enough, did not cry when he was sad. Only when he was happy, or laughing. Remus had explained to him once that crying was the body’s way of releasing chemicals that produced emotions it wasn’t equipped to handle. Sirius liked to imagine that God had looked at him, a flaming queer gryffindor to be born to an abusive pureblood household, and assumed Sirius’ life would be pain and only that. That he was designed with the assumption that he would never feel joy, so his brain was not built to handle it. He liked the idea that he had proven God wrong with his ability to be happy. 

 

So no, he doesn’t cry, because God built him ready for pain. His face goes vacant, and any onlooker would assume he’s compartmentalized the situation, or that he truly feels no pain over the loss of his friend. Remus though, teary eyed Remus who knows him better than anyone currently alive, understands. He takes the hand that isn’t holding Harry, and he holds it. They walk inside together. 

 

Slowly, they gather everything they need up. The bodies have been taken away, which is good. Sirius assumes, hopes, it was the order. He wonders if he’s supposed to be in charge of a funeral. He adds it to the list of things he needs to talk to Remus about. Harry crawls around. If he senses anything’s wrong, it doesn’t show. They had discussed briefly leaving Harry with someone while they handled this, but neither felt comfortable letting the boy out of their sight just yet. They’re adding the baby bath to the pile of things they have to take home when Remus breaks down. Maybe God didn’t know about all the pain Remus would have to deal with. Maybe he did, and that’s what Sirius was there for. It was a nice thought, but not one Sirius was ready to award himself yet. Maybe Remus let him hold him as he cried, but that didn’t mean he was forgiven. 

 

In the moments there, sitting side by side on the floor, Sirius allows himself to fall apart, for just a fraction of a second. He says his name over and over in his head,  _  James, James, James,  _ as if he’s afraid the name will be taken from him soon too, along with the person. He tries to figure a version of himself that exists without James in his mind. It doesn’t quite work. He promises himself it will come. 

 

Once Remus wipes the tears from his eyes, they get the last of the things they need and go home. They put Harry down for a nap and sit at the kitchen table with a pen and paper. 

 

“The house,” Remus begins. “What do you want done with it?”

 

“Shit, didn’t James and Lily have a will or something? Is that really our decision to make?”

 

“We’ll have to ask Dumbledore about the will. In fact, we should probably owl him now and ask him to come so we can work things out, but knowing James and Lily, we can assume they’ve given everything to Harry, and you’re in control of it until he’s old enough to be a real person.”

 

A half hour and an owl later, Dumbledore appears with the will and confirms that Remus is, more or less, correct. Together the three of them agree upon what needs to be agreed on. The house will be hidden and protected untouched until Harry comes of age to decide what he wants done with it. The funeral will be handled by Dumbledore, something none were too pleased about, but neither Sirius nor Remus could handle the planning of a funeral at the moment. They made him promise to keep it a small, apolitical affair, only friends and the little family Lily had. It was to respect James and Lily for what they had been—people, not martyrs. 

 

When Harry wakes, crying, and Dumbledore becomes uncomfortable by the reality of the baby, the orphan he’d caused with his misplaced trust, he makes his exit. He still has not apologized.

 

They’ve discovered that Harry can sit up, a remarkable feat, so he sits on Sirius’ lap as they return to the paper. 

 

“You’ll need to get a house.”

 

“I’ll need to get a what now?”

 

“A house. You can’t expect him to sleep in your bedroom forever. He’ll need a nursery, and then a bedroom. He’ll need a place that doesn’t smell like pot, at the very least.”

 

Sirius blushes, then for a fleeting moment worries if the smell alone has in some way damaged Harry. It takes him a second to reassure himself of how crazy he’s being. This is why he needs Remus. “How does one go about buying a house?”

 

It’s approaching evening, so Remus says he’ll call a real estate agent as soon as they’re done talking. Sirius inhales and braves a question he doesn’t know he has a right to ask but needs the answer to anyway.

 

“How many bedrooms?” He makes himself look Remus in the eyes when he says this. Harry looks up too, sensing that something important is happening. “I mean, I know you didn’t sign on to be a parent or anything and you have your own life to get on with so it’s not that I expect-”

 

“Sirius,” Remus says. He hesitates for a moment, then reaches across the table to take Sirius’ hand. “Harry is what matters now, and I’m gonna be here for him. I’m gonna be here for you. I don’t doubt for a moment that you could raise him just fine on your own, but I’m here. I’ll stay as long as you need—a month, or until Harry’s grown.” 

 

At the realization that  _ this,  _ this is what he’s missed out on for the past year because of his own stupid fears and doubts, his face does the thing again: scrunches up, then flattens out. Remus notices and squeezes his hand. 

 

“Remus,” he says with a shaky voice. “I know I said it before, but I’m so sorry. You—you were the last person I should have doubted and you didn’t deserve that. You’re a better man than me, a better man than Dumbledore.”

 

Remus is quiet for a long time, but then he says softly, “I appreciate that. But it’s alright. We ought to stop apologizing, we’ve got to focus on being a team, being Harry’s parents.” He pauses, unsure if he’s ready to say the next part. “The war is over. Let the mistakes we made for it rest.”

 

“Three bedrooms,” Sirius whispers, then, “Thank you.” 

  
  


The next month or so is hard, but they make it through. 

 

Sirius’ birthday is hard. There was normally a wild party James threw together at the last second, and everyone came and forgot, for a night, about the war and about how they’d been a cursed generation that might not make it to next year's party. This year, Remus gets him some mint chocolate chip ice cream and they call it a night. It’s all he wanted, but the sharp contrast in mood highlights the lack of James.

 

The funeral is hard. Every funeral has been—Marlene’s, Dorca’s, every friend lost to the war—but nothing prepared them for this. Sirius had never pictured James’ funeral in the same way he had never pictured his own. It was something he never really believed in, the mortality of James Potter, until he saw him in a casket. He couldn’t look for very long. Remus held his hand the whole time, and Sirius held him when he cried. 

 

The first time Harry asks for ‘mama’ is hard. He sounds so confused, and there’s no good way to tell a one year old that she isn’t coming back. All they can do is hold him and hope that he’s too young to commit this moment to memory. That night, Remus goes out and buys 10 of Lily’s favorite candle, one that smells like the woods, so that Harry won’t lose all of her. Sirius realizes that in the weight of mourning James, he never fully realized what he’d lost in Lily too. He’d lost the teasing, the bright eyes, the brilliance, the clever hands braiding his hair and the soft arm around his waist. He was going to miss it. 

 

Everything, it seems, is hard. But there are moments when he catches Remus on the couch playing peek-a-boo with Harry, where he can’t help but smile and things are almost alright. There is them moving into a small house, and feeling as if they’ve shaken a good bit of the tragedy from their heels and left it at the old apartment. 

 

There is a moment, when Harry is in a playpen in the other room, because they’d been scared that paint fumes might harm him, because they are painting the nursery a pale yellow with little clouds everywhere. Remus gets paint on his nose. Sirius crosses the room, oddly quickly, and brings his thumb up to wipe it off. They stare at each other for a moment.

 

“I could have done that myself,” Remus says with a feigned calmness. 

 

“Could have,” Sirius says, then he shrugs and hurries back to his side of the room before his ears turn red. 

 

Remus has his own room, of course, and they’ve brought the bed over and everything, but after a month of sleeping in the same bed together, it feels odd not to. When Remus slips into Sirius’ bed that first night, they both decide not to say anything about it. They decide not to say anything about it every night after, too.

  
  
  


It is the night Harry takes his first steps. Remus had a safe and uneventful transformation a few nights before, and Molly Weasley had agreed to take Harry for those nights, so the belief that things might be okay is growing like a small potted plant on a windowsill. Then Harry takes his first steps and the reality of growth, of life continuing, is thick in the air. Remus, swotty old man he is, puts on an old Ella Fitzgerald record to wash the dishes while Sirius puts Harry down to bed.

 

“Real people use CD’s now, you know,” he says when Harry is successfully asleep. Remus looks over his shoulder and smiles. 

 

“We’re not real people,” he says.

 

“We’re not?”

 

“No.” Remus shakes his head as Sirius starts to dry and put away what he’s washed. “We’re both of us half canine, aren’t we?”

 

Sirius laughs. “Alright, but what does that have to do with your technophobia?”

 

“It means,” Remus says, “that I get to do what I want, and that’s that.”

 

“ _ Stars fading but I linger on dear, Still craving your kiss, I'm longing to linger till dawn dear, Just saying this, _ ” sings Louis Armstrong, through the record player.

 

Sirius’ hand touches Remus’ waist. Remus looks up from the pot he’s scrubbing, lips parted, eyes wide. He puts the pot down and lets Sirius lead him away from the sink, to the middle of the kitchen. He doesn’t blush when Sirius takes his hand, just keeps staring, and puts his other hand up on Sirius’ shoulder. He lets Sirius lead as they dance. He lets his eyes slip closed as Sirius draws him closer, so that his nose is pressed into his cheek and their dance becomes more of a gentle swaying. He lets his hand slip from Sirius’ shoulder to the back of his neck, playing gently with his long black hair. 

 

Sirius can feel Remus’ breath on his cheek. This is new, or at least a crossing of some very old line. He pretends it is not. He does not want this to stop, so he pretends it’s normal. He tries not to think too hard about why he initiated it in the first place.  _ I wanted to,  _ he thinks,  _ isn’t that reason enough? _ But he knows it is not. He knows he will have to think about this, and what it means, later. For now, though, he allows himself to just dance with Remus in the kitchen. 

 

_ “You gotta make me a promise, promise to me. You'll dream, dream a little of me,”  _ sings Ella Fitzgerald. The song ends. They stay as they are, standing, swaying, pressed against each other. For a moment, Remus shifts, rubbing his nose against Sirius’ cheek, and Sirius thinks he’s maybe shifting his mouth southward, towards starting something they’ll definitely have to talk about eventually, but he doesn’t. The thought of it, though, makes Sirius want it. He’ll have to think about that later, too. Not now though. 

 

They stay like that as long as they can reasonably justify—what feels like a lifetime, but feels too short, after the song ends. Sirius kisses Remus on the cheek. This is not unheard of. This is precedented. This is okay. Also, he doesn’t think he could leave now without something. It is only 8:30, but they are subject to late night wake up cries from Harry, so he steps away, leaving Remus watching him in the middle of the kitchen. 

 

“Goodnight, Remus,” he says with a smile, and then ducks off into the bedroom. A bit later, when Remus creeps into bed beside him, he pretends he is asleep, even though they both know he is not. In the morning, Remus’ head is on his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything. He’s not quite ready, not just yet.

  
  


It’s not that the desire to kiss Remus is new, Sirius thinks to himself in the morning. The desire to kiss someone is rather common with him. He thinks of kissing strangers if they have a particularly nice smile. Sometimes when James had done something particularly ingenious and endearing, or he was excited about a quidditch victory, Sirius would get the thought of kissing him. That didn’t mean for a second that Sirius was interested in strangers on the subway, or (he shudders at the thought) in James, only that he likes to kiss people. He should figure out the depth of his motivation for wanting to kiss Remus before he broaches a conversation with him on the subject, Sirius believes. 

 

He thinks of the first time he kissed Remus, during a particularly fun game of truth or dare. At some point in the game, Remus had lost his shirt. James caught Sirius staring (really, what did he expect? A drunk gay 17 year old can only gracefully handle so many things, and Remus Lupin’s bare chest is not one of them) and thus dared the kiss into existence. Normally, when dared into kissing someone in front of a crowd of onlooking Gryffindors, Sirius would make a show of it, and by the end they would both be on the floor and the crowd would be whistling, the recipient blushing and James laughing his arse off. 

 

Sirius had been oddly nervous about this particular dare though, and so he surprised everyone, including himself, with a gentle kiss. One that barely happened, except it left both boys bright red and you had to say Sirius’ name twice before you could get his attention for a week after that. For once, James hadn’t laughed, only rolled his eyes and groaned. Lily smiled good naturedly and patted his hand in a ‘ _there there_ ’ sort of gesture. The whole thing was to be forgotten about, for it had been odd and slightly, inexplicably embarrassing, and it didn’t quite fit into any narrative being written in Sirius’ head. It was an outlier of an episode. The story one told to remind oneself that not everything means something. Only—isn’t every narrative being rewritten now? He is having to retcon the history of himself and his friends, and now the definition of this moment is up not to 17 year old Sirius, but to 21 year old Sirius, who sleeps in the same bed as Remus and is raising a child with him. 

 

So he follows the advice he once overheard a 7th year girl telling to her younger sister. 

 

“If you only think about kissing him when it’s dark and pretty and the moment is nice, it’s not worth it.” She had said this all with an air of authority, as if she, as a 17 year old, knew all there was to know about matters of the heart. It was so convincing that Sirius still remembered and believed every word she said. “It’s during the day that counts. If you want to kiss him while he’s spreading butter on his toast, or while he’s studying for a herbology exam, or napping on the couch with his hair messed up, that’s when you know you’ve caught feelings.” Sirius remembers, in retrospect, that the younger sister this sage advice was intended for turned out to be a lesbian. He hopes she’s still managed to apply it to her dating life. He hopes she’s survived the wars, both the one against He Who Must Not Be Named and his death eaters, and the one that was surviving, as a queer person, every fucking day of your life. Sometimes Sirius thinks that if he could pick one war to not have to fight, he’s not sure which he’d choose. Perhaps he’d do a coin toss. 

 

So he sits at the kitchen table that morning, and the sun is doing that thing to Remus’ hair, making it glow in a way that shouldn’t be natural. Harry has started to feed himself, clumsy fingers smushing tiny bits of potato that only halfway make it in his mouth, so all Sirius can do is watch helplessly over his bowl of cereal. Remus is sipping his tea and making himself slowly eat all of his strawberries and a bagel before he heads off to his new job at a bookstore. Sirius’ hands feel restless, like they’re shaking out of their skin, like his bones are iron filings and Remus is a magnet. He goes through each of his next steps, something that was always calming to him. He’s going to finish his cereal.  _ And then he’s going to kiss Remus.  _ No. He’s going to pour the extra milk in the sink and wash the bowl before going to get dressed.  _ And he’s going to kiss Remus on the way out.  _ No. He’s going to get dressed and double check that the grocery list is complete and then put Harry in a stroller and somewhere in all of this, Remus is gonna head out for work.  _ And he’s going to kiss Remus goodbye.  _ No. 

 

Sirius was never one to lie to himself. He has a thing for Remus. He wants to kiss Remus. If he wants to split his heart open with honesty even further, he’ll even admit that he wants to take him out for dinners and put a ring on his finger and get a job just so he can put pictures of him up in his cubicle and talk proudly all day about his husband and his godson and how ready he is to go home to them. But what did he expect? There are only so many things a broken gay 21 year old can handle, and sleeping in the same bed as Remus Lupin for several months is not one of them. They’re raising a kid together, of course he’s caught feelings. That’s also exactly why he shouldn’t do anything about it. Of course, Sirius has never been particularly adept or interested in self control or self denial, but he’s a parent now. He doesn’t have much an option but to at least try. 

 

They’re up late one night, a week and a whole lot of curbed impulses later. Harry is sleeping in the nursery, they are drinking tea on the couch (the idea of even butterbeer in the house makes Sirius nervous now).

 

“And a few years from now he’ll be heading off to muggle school, and he’ll make all sorts of-” 

 

Sirius cuts him off, “Woah, muggle school? Who said anything about muggle school?”

 

“Well of course he’s going to muggle school.” Remus is not drunk, but he’s sleepy, which always makes his words come out soft, and leaves him slumped into the couch cushions, leaning just a bit too close to Sirius. “It’s good for kids to go to muggle school. I went. And besides, Lily grew up a muggle, she would never have let ‘arry skip on muggle school.”

 

“You’re right, you’re right,” Sirius mumbles, scooching closer so their thighs are stack on top of each other. “But still, muggle school. Ugh.” He makes a face. “Sounds terribly boring, doesn’t it?”

 

“Maybe for you, staying home alone all day.”

 

Sirius holds his hand against his chest and makes a face of shock that James always called his ‘gayest face of all’. “What makes you think I’m the housewife in this situation? I could get a job. I will. Having a child isn’t going to get in the way of my great career ambitions.”

 

“Ah yes, of course,” Remus smiles. “And what career is that?”

 

“I’m going to be a professional pastry wrestler.”

 

“A pastry wrestler?”

 

“Yes, it’s a very advanced form of both wrestling and baking in which one has to wrestle while baking a cake, and whoever gets their finished cake into their opponents mouth first wins. It’s very competitive, only the best survive the first match.”

 

“Ah, well I support you in all your lofty ambitions, as long as you promise to come home to me-” Remus freezes, seeming to only now notice that he’s leaned in, and his nose is pressed into Sirius’ cheek and their lips are fractions of centimeters apart.

 

They stay like that for far too long, until Sirius smiles and kisses Remus softly on the tip of  his nose. Not quite something he can pass off as normal, but not quite a lit match on a field of gasoline. Not the kiss he wants. 

 

“Goodnight,” he whispers as he rises slowly off the couch. He leaves Remus there, frozen on their living room couch. 

 

He crawls into bed, thinking maybe this might be the night Remus stops joining him, uses his own bed in his own room for the first time since Halloween. But it isn’t. Remus slips in quietly, maybe 15 minutes later, under the sheets on his side of the bed. He lies there for a moment. Then, without a word, he scooches over and lays his head on Sirius’ shoulder, their sides pressed together, his arm stretched across Sirius’ stomach. There’s a tense pause, where Sirius knows Remus is waiting for the slightest indication that this isn’t what Sirius wanted. Sirius puts his arm around Remus’ shoulders and rests his head against his. They try to control their breathing.

 

Sirius doesn’t get much sleep that night. They have, he believes, clearly passed the bounds of normal “two gay men who happen to be friends and are raising a child together” sorts of affection. But maybe Remus thinks this is all normal and casual and platonic. Maybe it is for him. Maybe Sirius should stop caring so much about what everyone else qualifies as normal and platonic. He and Remus get to define that for themselves, right? But how are they defining it? He runs these thoughts, every instance of them, over and over again in his mind on loop until he finally drifts off to sleep. 

  
  


Then there’s the day Dumbledore shows up. He brings a batch of cookies from the Hogwarts kitchens and an odd sort of smile. They let him in. Harry is in the playpen. 

 

“He’s getting big,” Dumbledore says, staring a bit apprehensively. 

 

“Yes he is.” Sirius speaks steadily, looking Dumbledore right in the eyes, not letting him forget whose house they are in. Remus sits fidgeting with the kitchen table. Months refinding what Dumbledore and taken from them means that anti-Dumbledore sentiments are at an all time high for Remus and Sirius. Sirius pulls out a chair for Dumbledore. Dumbledore sits. Sirius doesn’t. 

 

“It’s a lovely home you’ve made for yourselves,” Dumbledore offers.

 

“Yes it is,” says Sirius. Dumbledore sighs.

 

“I see you’re not particularly interested in exchanging pleasantries, so I’ll get to the point. I have a proposition for you.” Remus and Sirius exchange looks, wary. “The two of you have clearly done a wonderful job with Harry so far, but there’s no denying this isn’t what you signed up for. Perhaps Sirius agreed to be the godfather in a better time, before the prophecy, but the fact of the matter is that James and Lily were casualties of war, not some sort of car crash or whatnot. It seems quite clear to me that the Order has a responsibility to take care of their son. You should not have the burden of raising him. Besides, it’s nothing short of a miracle that you’ve gone without threat to his safety so far. Voldemort may be gone, and the war over for us, but for a lot of Death Eaters, defeat has yet to be accepted. There are many who’d like to finish the job Voldemort started with the Potter family. With this in mind, the logical conclusion is to provide Harry with the best protection possible.” Remus and Sirius try to make sense of his scattered sentences.

 

“I am, of course, speaking of Hogwarts. Of Harry coming to stay at Hogwarts.”

 

Remus understands before Sirius does, and puts his head between his hands. 

 

“Well of course he’ll be going to Hogwarts,” says Sirius, “but not until he’s 11. Why would he go any sooner?”

 

“I believe, as head of the Order, it is my responsibility to take Harry on as my ward at Hogwarts. There he will be best protected and, as they say, raised by a village. It’s unwise to have him here with you, as a loose end of the war. I’m hoping you’d be willing to help me move him in?”

 

“Not in the slightest,” says Sirius. 

 

“I’m willing to go to the Wingzenemont for custody.”

 

There is a tense silence. Sirius raises his wand and points it directly at the tip of Dumbledore’s crooked nose. “What was the first offense I was sent to your office for?” 

 

“Charming bats to follow the Slytherin house students around all day. You were in the second month of your first year. I told you you were a prodigy, both in charms and in trouble making. I’m not under an imperius curse, Sirius, just being practical.”

 

Sirius does not lower his wand. “I don’t pretend that either of us are as powerful as you, Dumbledore. But if you think for a moment that you can take Harry from us without us raising all hell, you’ve gone senile. You’ll be disrespecting James and Lily’s wishes over my dead body.” 

 

Harry begins to cry, and Remus gets up to comfort him. “Whatever this is,” Sirius continues, “your conscience, your obsessive need to control everything, whatever, it’s of no relevance to us. We’re quite blessed to have the ‘burden’ of raising Harry, and will continue to protect him by any means necessary, including going against you. I believe it’s time for you to go now.” Sirius has not broken his eye contact with Dumbledore throughout any of this. “I’ll walk you out.”

 

Dumbledore looks a little dumbstruck, but nods and is led out. They gave the cookies to neighbors then went home and made their own, in honor of Remus’ birthday the next day. Afterwards, they put up some extra protection spells around the house, some that make it impossible for Dumbledore to find them. He doesn’t try to take Harry from them again. 

 

A week later, Harry tries to walk up the porch steps. Remus fumbles frantically to find the camera he bought and take a picture. He makes it about halfway up before tumbling back down, and Sirius has to catch him. They go out that day and buy a photobook to put the picture in. When they crawl into bed that night, he curls into Sirius, as has become an unacknowledged tradition, and talks about how James and Lily should have been there. Their death has been a reality for months now, but some days, it’s like it jumps out at them all over again. Soon it’ll be July, and they’ll have to contend with the thought of Harry’s second birthday. What would they even do? Invite their friends for a party while they pretend everything was fine? Parties for babies were odd enough to begin with. Tack on it being the first party without the baby’s parents and it became a whole slew of pain. Sirius tries not to worry about problems before they come to him. 

 

Which is exactly the same tactic he uses with his feelings for Remus. And if he hugs him a little too long in the excitement of the first time Harry says his name (or most of it—“Pa-foo” is about all he can get out at first), then who can blame him? Remus does the same a few days later when he first hears him try to say ‘Moony’ (a brave attempt that came out a bit more like “oomi”). And if Sirius doesn't correct that one cashier that asks if he's buying those chocolates for that 'husband’ that's with him sometimes, well, it’s of no harm to anyone. Just a way of simplifying the interaction. Sirius is all about efficiency. 

 

He pretends it’s not a problem until one night Harry wakes up crying. He sleeps all the way through most nights now, but every once in a while it’s a bad night. This time, it’s Remus’ turn to comfort him. Sirius tries to go back to sleep. He almost does, but then he thinks he hears something. It’s the middle of the night, and just-woken-up Sirius isn’t nearly as sharp as normal Sirius, so it takes him a moment to realize it’s Remus singing. 

 

“ _ There's a saying old, says that love is blind, Still we're often told, "seek and ye shall find’. _ ” Normally Ella Fitzgerald sings this, but this time it’s Remus, apparently all out of real lullabies. Sirius always loved Remus’ voice. It was something that seemed so intrinsically reflective of him, soft and steady, comforting. It was a shy and quiet voice, as if it didn’t wish to take up much room, but once it was there it filled the space it was in with some sort of magic they never learned in Hogwarts. It drove Sirius insane. He thought at first that he would just stay in bed and listen from down the hall, but he’s Sirius Black, and a baby is a personality adjustment, not overthrow. So he walks softly down the hall to Harry’s nursery. Remus doesn’t notice him at first, his back turned as he rocks Harry and looks out the window by his crib.

 

_ “There's a somebody I'm longin' to see, I hope that he, turns out to be, Someone who'll watch over me,”  _ Remus sings as Sirius comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist. Remus jumps a little at first, then relaxes into it, not wanting to disturb Harry, who’s stopped crying and is almost back asleep. They keep swaying in time with the song, rocking Harry gently. Sirius ducks down and buries his face in the crook of Remus’ neck. He’s not quite kissing it, but only a fraction of a second away.

 

_ “Won't you tell him please to put on some speed, Follow my lead, oh, how I need, Someone to watch over me.”  _ The song finishes with a shaky breath, and Harry is asleep again. Remus lays him down gently, and they stay standing like that. 

 

“Sirius?” Remus says it softly, a question, and one he’s nervous about. Sirius realizes that Remus saying his name is pretty as all the music in the world. Coincidentally, that’s also when he realizes he’s in some deep shit right about now. 

 

“Sshhh.” Sirius takes Remus by the hand and leads him out of the nursery. He hears some distant part of brain, the part called his good sense, screaming. It keeps trying to tell Sirius to let go of Remus’ hand, but it’s locked in a tower so far away no prince could ever find it. Nighttime, just-woken-up-heard-Remus-singing-and-realized-he’s-in-love-with-him Sirius does not have the same priorities as the good, sensible Sirius. This Sirius acts rather of his own volition. 

 

He pulls him just outside and shuts the nursery door softly. Then he backs Remus up against the wall.

 

“Siri-” Remus starts, but then they’re kissing. 

 

Imagine it like this—the ocean rises everyday just so he can see the shore, and touch him briefly throughout the day. Imagine it like this—time only keeps running because his lover is at the at the end of the universe, and he’s eager to reach him. Imagine it like this—you’ve been in love with him for as long as you can remember and you lost him before you could realize, but now you’ve gotten him back and the world is full of hurting and healing and he is there in all of it. 

 

That is this kiss. 

 

Remus makes a small sound and Sirius thinks he’s just died a little as he takes his other hand up to hold Remus’ cheek. All of a sudden, Remus is pulling him closer with his hand on his waist and he  _ knows _ he’s died a little because this is what heaven is like. He pulls away gently, just to smile. 

 

They look at each other, noses still touching, and laugh, a little giddy. Sirius kisses him again, softer than all the others.

 

“Goodnight,” he says and starts to walk away, then pauses, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave. He kisses Remus one last time, his fingers on his chin, then lets the hand he’s been holding Remus’ with drop and he walks away with a smile. He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

  
  


The next morning, Sirius is relieved to find Remus still in bed with him before he even remembers why he might not be. Remus’ eyes are shut, but Sirius knows he’s awake bc he’s tracing circles on his stomach. It takes a lot of willpower to get out of bed that morning. 

 

Harry is in the high chair and Sirius is going about making breakfast when Remus comes out. Sirius tries to be casual about it, looking over his shoulder at him. From the look on Remus’ face, it’s obvious he remembers the night before. He doesn’t say anything, just holds Sirius’ gaze for a moment before sitting down beside Harry and listening to him happily babble. 

 

Thank God it’s a Saturday, and thank God for Molly Weasley, who had already invited Harry over for the afternoon to play with Ron. Normally, Remus and Sirius would come over too, but they had told her they still had work to do on the house and would appreciate the time. This was true, but they couldn’t have known how much they would appreciate the time when they had set this up days ago. Sirius is still finishing up with the breakfast dishes when Molly comes to pick up Harry. After handing him off, Remus comes back and leans against the countertop beside Sirius.

 

“So I’m thinking we set up that bookshelf in the living room finally, and then if we have time, we might actually get around to filling up some picture frames and hanging them, so that we could complete our suburban household look,” Remus says, arms crossed, casual as ever.

 

“Cool, cool, cool,” Sirius speaks in a rush. “First we should talk though.”

 

“Oh.” Remus tries to play this off as cocky, with a raised eyebrow, but Sirius knows him and can tell how nervous he’s gotten all of a sudden. “Are we done with our game of gay chicken now?”

 

“It’s not gay chicken if it’s between two actual gay men over the course of several months, then it’s just called dating.”

 

“But we’re not dating.”

 

“Well see that’s what this conversation is about.” Sirius meant it as a joke, but Remus looks startled, the same wide-eyed look he gets when Sirius makes a move he isn’t quite prepared for. It’s single-handedly caused Sirius to run into a small multitude of objects, sometimes just because he was thinking about it. He sighs and climbs up on the counter beside Remus. He takes Remus’ hand cautiously. “This okay?” 

 

Remus nods.

 

“Look,” Sirius says. “If I’ve misread something, just let me know and we can pretend this never happened and I get if you’re concerned about trying anything while we’re raising Harry, but I — well I can’t stop thinking about you, and we live together. I think I might be falling for you, just a little bit, and I was wondering if you felt the same and I was wondering if you wanted to try to go out for dinner sometime, which is insane because like I said, we live together and know everything there is to know about each other but it seems right, doesn’t it? And if you don’t want it’s totally fine but — ” Remus cuts him off with a kiss.

 

“Okay,” he says. 

 

“Okay?”

 

“Okay, I’d like that. Okay, I feel the same. Okay, I think I’ve been falling for you since fucking 5th year and okay, I’m ready to try.”

 

Sirius leans his forehead against Remus’ with a smile. “Good.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

They set up the bookshelf. It takes them a while, because they keep getting distracted, but they finish it eventually. They don’t get around to hanging pictures, but they do take a polaroid of themselves, Sirius kissing the cheek of a smiling Remus. When Molly comes to drop Harry off, she is greeted by a Sirius hanging off Remus’ arm, neither of them looking particularly tidy but rather like someone had been tangling their hands in the poor men’s hair and then made them run a few miles. She smiles and laughs, a bit awkwardly, but in a happy sort of way. 

  
  


One night, a few months later, Sirius is holding Harry in a rocking chair on their back porch, showing him the stars. He’s shown him Sirius, the star, and all his favorite constellations when he sees a shooting star and decides to teach Harry about wishes. 

 

“Now Harry, you’re allowed to wish for whatever you want, that’s how wishes work, but if I had to pick one for you it would be that you would grow up and love someone as much as I love that asshole Remus Lupin. Actually, you’re starting to talk, I shouldn’t use words like ‘asshole’ in front of you. If I had to pick a wish for you, it would be that someday you love someone as much as I love Moony. 

 

“It doesn’t even have to be the same sort of way, You could love someone the way I loved James or the way I love you. I suppose I just mean that I’d wish for you to love very deeply, Harry. I’ve yet to find anything better than that.”

 

He’s about to go on about other things he would wish for Harry, including a good quidditch team and a lot of mint chocolate chip ice cream, when Remus comes up from behind and kisses Sirius on the head.

 

“Oh, you’re here,” Sirius tries to play it off casual.

 

“Yes, I have been.” 

 

“Oh.”

 

Remus smiles and laughs softly, kissing Sirius on the head again. “I love you too, asshole.”

 

“You know,” says Sirius, turning around with a grin, “you really shouldn’t swear in front of Harry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am fully aware that there's a lot of inaccuracies in child development here. If you want, you can explain it away as 'Harry's development was slightly slower because of trauma' or you can just. ignore it. thanks for enjoying my indulgent & fluffy fic!


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